Category Archives: beer

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Cuvee Delphine 2009 De Struise Brouwers, After a Long Journey From Belgium, This Sweet Lady Lands Stateside

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I have a long documented love for Struise, from Black Albert to the strangely fulfilling Schommelpeird. This beer is no exception. This is Black Albert aged in 4 Roses Barrels for maximum pwnage. The potential sweetness of the 4 Roses did not seem to be a great pair with Black Albert, however, let’s take the Pepsi challenge to see if this gem is better than the Classic.

Sweet Nestle Kisses from that old bourbon proprietor down by the creek. Don't tell your foster parents, they wont love you as much.

De Struise Brouwers
Belgium
Russian Imperial Stout | 13.00% ABV

I always wonder about the labels on these beers, it’s like, seriously after all that time soaking in bourbon, it didn’t pick up a single aspect or ABV notch of bourbon, I don’t wanna talk to a scientist, those motherfuckers lyin’ and getting me pissed. It’s like how 50/50 Eclipse sits in Pappy Van Winkle for 9 months but somehow remains as non-alcoholic as ever. Anyway, this beer pours like Black Albert has been juicing, the sheeting is more intense, nice microfine bubbles, mocha foam lacing, but not super gnar on the clinging. It’s not like that 18 year old girl you accidentally told you loved her, not that level of cling. Still, undeniably a beautiful beer.

I wasn't super stoked on the 50/50 Eclipse 4 Roses but then this beer hit 60 degrees and shit went to maximum satisfaction real quick.

I know a bunch of beer nerds will get their pitchforks and rally but honestly, the nose (after it warms up) reminds me of Kate the Great in a huge way. “PORT SPIRELS ARE DIFERENT!” they will object, but seriously the sweet caramel tone of 4 roses got all up inside of Black Albert like a prostate exam, and the result is a healthier, burlier stout that can chuck kegs over a 12 foot wall. At first I was underwhelmed at 50 degrees because I was like, oh, apparently they put this in the barrel for about 3 days, then shit opened up like the throttle on an Audi R8 and the upshutfucks were distributed with panache and gracious aplomb. This stout has a lithe sweetness that doesn’t seem to come from the malt or the bourbon, it is a weird third aspect of caramel and marshmellow that comes in and interjects opinions like a poorly moderated Fox News show. All of a sudden you are confused as to who is correct, the deep bourbon or the chocolate toffee malts, existential conundrums abound.

This isn't exactly an automotive repair beer, then again, anything clocking in at 13% is basically a non-jetski beer.

The coating is actually thinner than I remember Black Albert being, but isna brown sugar manner that is hard to explain like finding concealer under the seat in your car. Again, it reminds me of Kate the Great that makes beef jerky and doesn’t tip valets. If this beer ratcheted back the cookie batter aspects, it would surpass kate, but this is like disputing the 911 Turbo vs. the Z06, there will never be a winner, just a huge amount of butthurt.

As far as drinkability goes, my glass is gone and that is a perfect indicator to me that, for 13%, people have been killed for less. It will not cross the threshhold of those people adverse to stouts or any dark beers, alepigment prejudice (APP) but if you have someone who is stoutcurious, you can get him/her to taste the succor of this sweet treat.

After a couple of these, I think it's safe to say I have no idea what is going on, chronology or otherwise.

Narrative: Treyvon Vizio had been a riverboat gambler as long as he could remember. Well, this warrants some clarification, Treyvon was born in northern Atlanta but adopted at age 3 to work a casino riverboat on the Meuse river in Belgium. The Netherlands were a strange place for a salt old gem like Trey, but he adapted quickly, swindling the passing German tourists, serving up “authentic” bayou cuisine coated in Belgian candied sugar, and espousing Mark Twain allegories that had no basis in fact. Old Trey was a sweet one, easy to like, but he would turn on you like an old Flemish adder once any form of jig was elevated. Technically, since he moved there at age 3, he shouldn’t have had a thick islander meets creole accent, but Noam Chomsky never called him out. He would just strum away on his river ukulele and tell the Belgian locals about his trials wrastling rivergators in a country where everyone carried firearms. Old Trey took a bite of imported cacao and surveyed his work amiably, sure, they were affluent river tourists, but what else would Belgian people be doing? Tracing back the roots of the Holy Roman Empire? Maybe investigating the history of 15th century oil painting materials? No fucking way. These people have enough X and trees to last through 18 Foster the People concerts, they were all about the riverboat gambling with old Treyvon.

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Drie Fonteinen Hommage, Paying Hommage to all my broken bottles lost in shipment, RIP

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So this beast took quite the fucking effort to land. As far as I know, not many bottles of this made it stateside and the jump across the pond involved quite a few amazing bottles and, in classic form, this bottle came in a lamp box all the way from Ireland. It didn’t speak the language, just a drain on the system, but I married it, so it’s chill. Well let’s see if all the hype is worth this sour unicorn.

This beer should pay Hommage to my Fedex account, so many damn boxes and an international trade to land this ruby bastard.

Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen
Belgium
Lambic – Fruit | 6.00% ABV

I remember some nay sayer once told me “Don’t try for that beer, it’s too hard to lock down and it’s basically 3F Sch. Kriek but with raspberries.” Let me be the first to say, no fucking way. This beer is incredible in a waay even beyond the way that Sch. Kriek is amazing. I drank this side by side with Blabaer and I think this one carried the day. Just look at it, it has a radiant glow like fairy afterbirth. The lacing settles down and lets the berries and complex base beer shine like a telecaster sustained note. It doesn’t need lacing, no parlor tricks like a huge head, just balls out acid and musky complexity. You don’t like raspberries? Well too bad, this is like pink interior in a Murcielago, you fucking deal with it.

When this box arrived from Europe, I was all like this, shit was so cash.

Ok so, maybe there are some similarities to this and Sch. (cant spell it, too lazy, TL;DR) Kriek, but it is similar in the way that the way that a base v6 mustang is similar to a GT500 in that women can maybe tell the difference. Those of us who aren’t sexist generalizers will have something to say. There is a musky mossy cardboard finish to the nose of this beer. The raspberry notes do not fuck arond, even with age they are like sage old wise berries and smell delicious and almost too archetypical to be real, like this is a type of lambic bubble bath. The smell makes me think that this will melt my face like Christopher Lloyd in who Framed Roger Rabbit. Toontown up in this bitch.

This beer is mesmerizing and plays with your mind, in a sage wise old way.

There is an super drying tart raspberry taste to it that just tears the enamel off of your teeth. Your taste buds run for cover, but there will be no shelter provided under this oppressive regime. You get the tannins but then a sweetness comes in to stop the dental abuse, a halfway house. The drying nature combined with the raspberry gentleness makes this a bit more refined than Scharsbeer (I tried). It is delicious and caustic at the same time, like a well balanced Taylor Swift album. AND JUST AS BITTERING.

Despite the transatlantic voyage, violent yet classy mouthfeel, and incredible tartness, I love this lil pumpkin. My taste buds are like when Scarlett comes back to Antebellum south after Sherman’s march but, in death there is rebirth. Maybe my sour zones wont be such pussies next time. It is incredibly delicious and I am sure another vintage of this would be amazing. I just don’t know any average person that you could pop this open with at a ski lodge or, on a Grayhound bus to meet your baby’s momma. No pedestrian endeavors here, just raspberry violence and infidelity.

You taste a sip of this Belgium gem and want to embrace its European nature, kinda.

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Crooked Stave Blackberry Petite Sour, Like Jamba Juice, For Fitness Buffs with Alcohol Problems

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What else is there left to be said about this plucky upstart, Crooked Stave. It uses the fabled Rocky Mountain water that we have heard to much about in a different context. Every batch seems to hover around 1000ish bottles which is the sweet spot for breweries these days, as we all know, ask any kid holding onto a Black Note, he will tell you. So lotsa juicy treats popping up in the spring, let’s see if this one puts forward a good foot, or GETS TANGLED IN THE VINES.

In between all the malt calories, who has time for fresh fruit? Crooked Stave has a solution for you.

Crooked Stave Artisan Beer Project
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | ABV ?

BOTTLE NUMBER 424 of 857, mad points for .RAR skillz

This of course, was aged in wine barrels with blackberries added. Blackberries are so damn expensive that using that as an adjunct alone is a feat in itself. I guess all those membership fees are going to good produce use. These brewers must mash out at Farmers Markets like Belle in the intro sequence of BntB (slang.) Anyway, as you can see, this beer almost comes across like something that could be good for you and the color is downright pretty. There are all kinds of deep fuschia, purple, maroon, and ruby hues that makes you feel like Lisa Frank brewed this one up with unicorn blood.

DAMN YOU ELUSIVE SOUR GEMS, your unavailability is megabusting my balls.

The lacing is minimal and I am glad, get that shit out of the way, this is sour territory and I don’t have time for you expansive nature and lacing, lambics don’t fuck around and this wild ale gets right down to business. The bubbles are super fine and put together some nice floorboards for the acidic tannins from the blackberries to gracefully pirouette upon. The taste is exactly what you’d expect, juicy, drying blackberries all up in your dome piece. The oak and tannins go hard in the paint not unlike Wacka Flocka Flame, leaving your mouth all satisfied and dry with residual tastes of jams and preserves. Mammy let you lick the pie tin because you are a good boy.

Gary Soto once wrote a story about how he ganked this pie and felt like a shithead for it, and I kinda feel bad as well, receiving a beer like this so far from its native Colorado home. Kevin P. is a solid bro for kicking this tart gem into my mix. The drinkability, despite the nice acidic finish is kept in check by the sweet aspects of the berries, so it’s like when two girls are jocking you at the same party, an efficient gradient of acrimonious intent levels shit out. Never happened to you? Drink more sours homie.

I will have to disagree with the label’s bossy tone, telling you to serve it around 45 degrees, yeah maybe if you are afraid of amazing delicious fruit notes, then go be a scaredy cat and enjoy the limited profile of this gem. It reminds me of a more brash version of St. Lamvinus, like St. Lam’s brother that is all into magic tricks or the Eagle Scouts. Ultimately this beer is like getting a sloppy smooch from the Smuckers’ curator, and you are edified as a result.

At first I was all like, I ain't drinking no sissy girl colored sour beer, but when it turned into a robot teradactyl and decimated a gigantic monster, it had my attention.

Narrative: What the post-Platonic school of thought never contemplated was that, for every being in the aether, for every corresponding form of each berry ever made, there is a berry heaven. While not sentient, each blackberry in 300 b.c. Macedonia exerted a Will and Representation and, upon consumption, filled a nothingness with each other berry. Michael Park was a total asshole in his life. He would take the last slice, borrow your boardshorts and never give them back, and constantly talk about how amazing the shitty ass Miami Dolphins were. But now he is dead. He awoke in a field with his blackberry Virgil and accompanied him through chamber after chamber of descending berry sins, each one more acerbic than the last. Finally he came to the acidic Lapapa Berry, crushed in three stills for all eternity for its endlessly sour nature, for crimes against palates. “What the fuck is this? Seriously, there’s juice everywhere and it stings my eyes, why have I been brought here?” Michael wiped the sticky pulp without the slightest sense of reverence to the clear parallel to Judas or clever analogs to Italian literature. “Blerghh slergghhh YOUUU AREE A SOURRR ASSHHHOOLLEEEE” Virgilberry gurgled out and pushed him into the press, the iron and oxygen from his mangled body adding a calcium boost to the hellberry slurry.

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Avery Brewing Company Muscat D’Amour, If You Love Chardonnay, You Will Love This Lil Muscat

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So Avery has had a few ups and downs on these barrel aged beers and some I would without hesitation tell you to buy them, like condoms at Warped Tour, others I have a tough time aligning myself to because I am just a slovenly low brow beer swiller with no capacity for fermented grapes. Let’s take a look at this beer and see if any Statutory Grape takes place here.

For those times when wine seems too classy but beer seems too delicious.

Avery Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
American Wild Ale | 10.78% ABV

Oh that .78%, you’ll feel it. Actually you won’t. This is an incredibly crisp and gentle wild ale that imparts its alcohol like a Yakuza strangler knocking you out. Hey, you could have just provided the access codes, alas, I digress. So this is not unfamiliar territory at first, a chardonnay aspect, light malts, a lazy apple juice meets Martinellis aspect with minimal lacing. I am not getting all fussy about the appearance because, truthfully, this is a genuinely beautiful beer. There isn’t that old qualifier where you go “but she has a great personality” or some shit, it is like a gentle old IPA that you trust with your secrets and practices making kisses with.

The smell is like a bachelorette party at a wedding doomed for failure. There’s some sassy spritzer resfreshing notes of lime and salinity like the vodka sodas from the bridesmaids, and a deep muscat grape, white grape, Chardonnay, and apple that beckons to the old folks with their time worn traditions and irrelevant opinions about vagina shaving. Ultimately, a luscious bouquet. The tannins give this INCREDIBLY dry aspect to it that is like eating too many atomic warheads that starts nailing my bicuspids on the reg.

I am not a huge white wine fan, but I love Avery's barrel aged stuff, I cannot deny that I love this beer, NO MA'AM.

The taste is incredibly juicy, dry, mildly tart, oaky, but incredibly tannic. Just start whipping up some Chilean Sea Bass if you pop this beast, the pairings will be a marital aid for the entire household. The label says this beer is “a lovely amalgamation, awash with the delicate expressions and subtle nuances of soft malt, ripe muscat blanc grapes and savory brett.” I would say that is the eHarmony dating profile of this beer that upplays some aspects and fails to underscore some obese drying aspects. This is unmistakeably beer, which I am stoked on, but it also has a huge vinuous aspect, which actually works well, as well.

This beer confused me at first, but once I understood the nuances it became incredibly fulfilling.

This reminds me of an “imperial Temptation” if that makes sense. The drying is bigger, the brett is bigger, the oak is more burly, and the kisses are more furious. If that is up your alley, consider my alley completely occupied.

There is a lot going on here but if you stick with it, you will see the mastery presented.

Narrative: Sofia took a deep sip of chardonnay and exhaled watching the Marlboro 100 smoke dance blue in the moonlight and contemplated the course of the next 35 minutes. Here she was, chapter 9 into Nicholas Sparks’s The Notebook Dvd, but she was still entirely unable to contemplate the potential for intercourse with Chad, whose first name was unmistakably irritating. The deep pulls of Barefoot and Yellowtail brought no guidance and merely muddled her divided conscience. Finally, in a moment of clarity she exhaled and saw a verisimilitude of a Velasquez painting and realized the fleeting nature of life, the bacchanalian rebirth of grapes, and the pomegranate seeds or Persephone slipping through her fingers every day. “SKIP TO CHAPTER 21” she commanded to a supplicant Chad, his memory foam mattress left besmirched with alarm. “That’s…chill…” she spit Chardonnay kisses deep into his mouth and rose above the trite romantic exploits, for in this moment, the IKEA foam and shitty movie posters could not denature what was essentially an exercise of incongruence. It was Sofia’s duty to empirically sample enough Chads to black out those sections of the Punnett Squares for the time in life when it really mattered. It wasn’t the best grad school essay, but it was true.

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Corona Extra (Coronita), Well Coronita Extra, for those times when 7oz is All You Need, You Only Live Once that’s the motto of the YOLO

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What can I say about this Lake Havasu gem? This is the “fancy” beer on menus at resaturants above and beyond that old pedestrian Bud Light offering, worlds above any malt liquors, and the universally accepts currency of easy girls here and abroad. Right? Is that the selling point of a beer? We will get to the bottom of this mystery before you push a lime into yourself in today’s review.

Turn a square girl into a bi-chick, we just out here trying to function.

Grupo Modelo S.A. de C.V.
Mexico
American Adjunct Lager | 4.60% ABV

I can just say what everyone is thinking: “WHOA HOLD YOUR HORSES, 4.6% I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS SHIT” well buckle in because even when I turn the traction control on, shit is rough. Just pouring this beer reminds me of the cigarette burns in movie reels where you know a scene is about to be missing, but that usually takes place with this gem and other hard hitting interlocutors. No one ever got hurt on Coronitas alone. Well maybe, but they ain’t balling out like this, and no amount of 4.6% shit will pierce this Hydralisk carapace.

You expected some islander adventure and shit just went awry.

The pour looks like, agh, I have to go anywhere except the obligatory urine sample joke so I will say, the robes of an incontinent pre-teen? It has a mild radiance in the way the smoldering ex-boyfriend pictures have a faint resolute glow but the pain is still there. The smell is not, bad? It actually reminds me of when I was 19 and working out took full precedence in my life and I got to almost non-nauseating standards. The pear was least ripe, is what I am trying to communicate. This one time I read in Men’s Health that you should preserve the water of boiled vegetables, and I drank it. This is the smell i encountered. It has a deep b12, corn, sweet sucrose, and white rice. Not even mad tho.

I am not saying you should expect something high brow, just know that what you are seeking is inherently disappointing.

The taste kinda reminds me of those times when you say “fuck it” and eat a mint that has been washed in your jeans. You get a basic alkaline element that subsides to a strange vegetal aspect, like tongue kissing a vegan girl. When you exhale, it is like you know you aren’t getting into a club almost immediately. The rice aspects manifest themselves in a “clean finish” aspect that is akin to officious window washings from homeless people at a freeway turnpike. It feels clean but, you know the truth.

It's not that you don't drink good beer, you must also fail at beer by drinking this. Kevin Chang says so.

Ultimately, the drinkability crushes it out of the park and remains the single redeeming aspect of this beer. If you cannot drink other beers, this will be the ONLY aspect of redemption to you and that is fine, I can’t stand port, no one is bonging it up my ass, I am fine with it. This is ultimately a non-beer drinker’s beer, not for the aspects of “FUCK YOU, DRINK A 15% stout” but in the manner that the sheer taste and finish is closer to vegetables, soda, salt water, and pennies than the average beer. Not even trying to big league on this front, I love Rolling Rock without qualifier, and this shit gets destroyed in that bracket by all accounts. I guess in the off scenario that you are courting a tolerant 15 year old girl, this is your…go…to?

Even after a solid 6 pack of -nitas (42oz) I am wondering where my night wetn and when shit will begin.

Narrative: No. I refuse. This will be a pejorative story about some thinly veiled scapegoat character named Shitbot that processed corn and pushed out manure or something. Let’s not waste everyone’s time with an underhanded diss to the tune of 250 words, you can write your own.

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Freestate Iron Man Imperial Stout, The Closest I Will Ever Come to Completing an Iron Man Competition, or being Tony Stark

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Who doesn’t like the idea of being Iron Man? Being all bad ass in a fictional weaponry suit, or being super good at swimming and exercising and shit. Sounds amazing. Well time to face a hard reality, I will never be able to do those things, and this beer sure isn’t helping matters. I can only assume that Kansas is full of bad ass iron men since they have to put up with depressing flat land scapes, pale women, and I am pretty sure tornado fighting is the official state sport. Let’s see how this imperial stout measures up to shoulder rockets and tattered bike taint.

Rain rain go away, that's what all my haters say, my stouts stay on overload, my ales never evaporate.

Free State Brewing Co.
Kansas, United States
Russian Imperial Stout | 8.40% ABV

So let’s take a minute and talk about how little that Free State is fucking around, namely, not at all. I first noticed this company when Old Backus started flooding the streets like bootleg movies and I wanted a taste of that malty ass. Long story short, Old Backus is amazing and worth seeking out, maybe even a trip to Kansas. So seeing this offering, my Stoutster sense was tingling. The appearance is like a glass of deep coca cola with moderate lacing and lil wispy carbonation. Tap 1 black mana and unleash this will o’ the wisp. There’s a bit of black licorice going on in the nose and an herbal aspect.

This is for those bleak Kansas winters, with a long stretch to suffer through with no college basketball.

The taste isn’t exactly what I seek out from an imperial stout and instead comes across almost like a black IPA. There’s a huge herbal bouquet that is original, just not what I am into. Some people are super into Godspeed! You Black Emperor, but I just don’t get it. This may be crowd pleaser to some people, but I read Highlights and watch Shahs of Sunset, I am too fucking pedestrian for these efforts. It’s like when they enacted the Concordat of Worms and the Holy Roman Empire was flossing so hard, but the Divinity wasn’t on board. Well, I guess the larger part of Prussia is hops and, fuck, this analogy fell apart real quick. There’s a mild chocolate, but the minty herbal hops are like a funky Girltalk mash up.

an IMPERIAL STOUT made by the same people who made OLD BACKUS. Some hard shit is about to go down...right?

The brewery notes flex so hard, “Our Imperial Stout brewed to an Original gravity of 19.5 °P using 10 different types of malt, which combined, weigh 1,465 lbs. That works out to 3.4 lbs per gallon of finished beer or almost 4/10ths of a pound in every glass. The dark malts give a roasty flavor and dark color, caramel malts add sweetness and a full body. Three different hop varieties also add their own complexity (and about 78 IBUs). The bittering hop is Magnum. The early aromatic hops are Northern Brewer. The later aromatic Centennial. The final hop addition is a dry hop with a generous dose of Mt. Hood hops for a fine aroma The Ironman is named for one of our favorite regular customers, Walt Hull, who is a local blacksmith. ”

But that is kinda like boning a chick while listening to your own single. Count how many times they mention hops above and think about how much you enjoy hop presence in stouts and you’ll be able to tell if this beer is for you. It is by no means bad, but with how amazing Old Backus was, I guess I just hoped that Kansas would ball as hard as their NCAA Basketball team. Ball so hard.

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Funky Buddha Raspberry Berliner, For those days when actually eating fruit seems like too much of a hassle.

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First and foremost, map props to my buddy Diego for making this little Florida dream come true. He sent me one of these gems as an apology for something that really wasn’t even his fault, so WRAP YOUR HEAD AROUND THAT ONE. Funky Buddha knows how to whip up demand and turn out amazing beers, but today lets see if this juicy gem can take things to a Gushers level.

One of 23 bottles, people in Florida know the rules of supply and demand and cetacean farming.

The Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery
Florida, United States
Berliner Weissbier | 5.00% ABV

First and foremost, look at that shit. It is damn near radioactive in its radiance. That is the look of something that you absolutely would never let you kids have and then they would go apeshit on at a sleepover, much to your chagrin. The thin body and light coating just lets those raspberry tannins ignite and light up the sky. Plus, I drank this in a bar so it looks like you are some lowbrow asshole who likes his Sprite easter pink (read: sizurp.) Anyway, the look is amazing but hands down, the most amazing part of this beer is the smell. Once it was opened it was like all those days spent in the everglade fields harvesting raspberries with Peruvian hired hands. Except, in my case I wasn’t being drastically underpaid and denied health care by- oh shit my soapbox broke. It is like taking DMSO and becoming one with a raspberry. The smell is so fresh and bright that you have a hard time discerning anything but fragrant tannins, mild bitterness from the fruit and a light juiciness.

This beer is unlike anything you are accustomed to, and you are likely never to see anything like it again. Drink it in.

I am talking about real raspberries, not like eating a Ring pop. This is one of the most fragrant beers ever and it’s like giving a hug to a 3rd grader but in a way THAT IS SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE AT SOCCER GAMES OK. The taste is light and a bit heavy on the body and imparts the bitter fruit tannin with a tart juiciness that is fantastic through and through. It technically isn’t on style but, not a single fuck was given, I shared this beer with like 55 people and everyone received a single molar unit so that all could espouse from the hilltops the glory of Floridians at large. I think between the readers of this site, we could literally track down every single bottle released. CONSIDER THAT A CHALLENGE.

Oh so you drank your only bottle of this rare ass beer? Well that sucks, eel with it.

I look back on raspberries past and think of sweet Lenore and out special place in the cave. People came by to take pics with the empty bottle, if that gives you any idea of the type of canonization that this juicy beast imparted, and all were unified. Straight up Edict of Nantes in this bitch.

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Left Hand Milk Stout Nitro, Finally a Beer That Sounds Like All of My Favorite American Gladiators

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OH SNAP SICK 4-20 review BRO, NITROOOO. Anyway. So, here’s a gentle gem from Colorado sent to me from Sean Cloyd, hooking it up hard in the paint. The bottle says pour hard, sit back, and enjoy. I am expecting some crazy aleworks with sparklers and massive carbonation but, it’s a pretty chill affair at first, I mean just look below. It is hardly a picture of rage, the level of rally is sophmoric but fulfilling, like sophmores themselves.

I don't know the science behind it but, I am on board. Magnets, how do they work?

Left Hand Brewing Company
Colorado, United States
Milk / Sweet Stout | 6.00% ABV

So, after all the hubbabaloo about Guiness and their agitating widget, I was curious to see how this bottle would advance the nitro stout world. The result: POUR IT VERY HARD. I am not kidding, it tells you that right on the bottle. No fancy tech, no nanoagitation, or cellular meiosis to discharge nitrogen, just straight hard pours, the Colorado way. So I grabbed a big ass glass, Guiness appropriately enough, and poured it hard as fuck expecting a nice mess on my Left Hand. It hits the glass and just sits there for a moment and then goes into Snorolax cascade mode and evens out to what you see above. It wasn’t the most bad ass Bellagio foam show ever, but it was cool to be able to pour a beer like an asshole, on purpose, with good results.

This stout takes me back to the old days, simpler times when stouts were something you could finish by yourself, and pr0n jpegs took 3 minutes to download.

So this is a Crystal Light thin stout but in a great way, the sweetness from the milk stout doesn’t need some big malty tail to swing around, it is content just being itself. The mouthfeel isn’t quite like a nitrotap but, come on, did you really expect some straight up UK pub foamdome experience? It isn’t disappointing, I guess just put on some Oasis first to set the mood. The taste is a bit watery and you think you got tricked into a Weight Watchers 3 Points Porter but then the milkiness of the mouthfeel gives a gentle coating and the roasty nutiness sets in. And like that man who touched your thighs in the grocery store, it is gone as quickly as that, without a trace or witness to testify on your behalf.

You too can finish 4 to 5 of these in one night and no one will be the wiser. Believe in your dreams.

The low carbonation makes this exceptionally refreshing (particularly for a stout) and highly drinkable. At 6% you can session these while watching your football matches, Manchester v. Chelsea, etc. You get the point. UK shit. Very enjoyable, but not a show stopper. If you aren’t jaded by barrel aged imperial everything, you’ll still enjoy this gentle daffodil.

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Hess Brewing Brunus Induresco Coffee Porter, Eh Tu Brunus?

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I love seeking out nano’s and seeing what they are up to. Unlike girls at the gym with nanos, nanobreweries are downright approachable and can usually get up in the mix with stuff that bigger boys may not want to attempt. I don’t know if there is a smaller adjective but Funky Buddha fits this bill pretty well. When people started kicking up dust about this lil upstart, Eric generously hooked this up for me so I could get in on the SD reindeer games. Let’s see what is going down with Hess in today’s review.

It's a coffee drink for people who don't have shit to accomplish in the morning.

Hess Brewing Company
California, United States
American Porter | ABV 7.5(?)

One of the badass things about nano’s is that price is usually not a limiting factor since they are going to be making small runs with weird ingredients so you can try shit like a Durian Gose or an Ectocooler Saison, wait I think I already tried that last month, anyway, shit is cray. This is no exception, this porter has freshly roasted coffee beans from the coffee and tea collective and the nano notes are certainly there.

A: The pour is classic porter, nice Dr. Pepper looking wateriness with mild coating and a light sheeting that billows up a non-offensive amount of carbonation. The lacing is clumpy like 9’s in a club, you know what I mean. The result is lil spotty archipelagoes that cling to the glass like if Casper got hit with a proton pack. Don’t cross the streams with this porter.

At first I wondered if this would be mainstream and disappointing, but then it delivered some memorable moments. Pic related.

S: Easily my favorite part of this beer is the smell. It gets straight up Peruvian with some nice malty roast and an acidic coffee integration like light roasts that still have balls. The beans and dry roastiness trump the chocolate or sticky malt aspects, and for the porter base, I am liking what is going down. This has more coffee to the nose than even those other coffee heavy hitters like Peche Mortel of Founder’s Breakfast Stout, albeit with less complexity. The coffee hits like the Tyrant in Resident Evil with a huge left hook and little more than an aggro charge attack. However, I think it is better as a result.

T: The taste is acidic coffee and deep roasty malts through and through. It isn’t exactly on the smokey zone like some stouts that push the office jokes too far, but the coffee keeps it in line with clean Latter Day Saints coffee humor. The dryness works well with the light watery character and gives the whole beer this sort of morning beverage aspect that isn’t exactly filling but it knocks you down strictly due to the bitterness of the deep arabica character. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would assert the use of high alpha acid hops like Tomahawk but it isn’t exactly like that, no Native Americans were implicated in the creation of this stout.

Some people complain that I need to take more beer porn pics of me pouring the beer at super high res so you can see the hair follicles in the malt and shit, go to a Spiderman thread, this is beer.

M: The mouthfeel is crisp and dry. There was not a barrel involved here but the roast can trick you into thinking maybe some kids were painstaking working as coopers for Hess, and while I am not an advocate of child labor, if that is the case, so be it if coffee flavor is the price. Anyway, so there’s a nice crisp dryness but not a huge malty body to support it, so you get the porter analog of a west coast IPA, with different palate profiles. I am on board for that shit like crunchwrap supremes at 2:45 a.m.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I merked an entire 1 liter growler with the utmost urgency. This isn’t my favorite porter of all time but it does put an interesting spin on those non-BA non-imperial porters like Edmund Fitzgerald that hold a special place in my heart. If you like those but want more coffee on bean sex, this will get your oils all grinding. I would go ahead and assume that this is only as exceptional as noted when sampled extremely fresh, it also helps to sample 32oz at a time for maximum boost gauge omnislash potential.

You wouldn't steal a coffee, you wouldn't download a girlfriend, don't rob nanobreweries by accepting subpar replicas. FEELINGS.

Narrative: Carl Glauber kicked the obsidian sand in front of him and exhaled deeply. He was resigned to his fate, an untimely death on a deserted volcanic island with nothing but the sweet succor of hundreds of pounds of fresh coffee beans to abate his pain. The sweet irony of dying a slow death in the south pacific with only coffee beans to live on was, he was awake for every moment of it. “Go follow the Kopi Lowak coffee beans” they said “it’s the modern day gold rush, with coffee beans!” they said. Now he was here jittering harder than an asian biochem student wondering where it all went wrong. Maybe it was the jumping in the single prop plane, maybe it was the sacks and sacks of decadent coffee, maybe- ah, who we Carl to speculate as he stared out upon the deep, black, obsidian fragments. His hands shook violently from a coffee induced dehydrated rage as he tried to insert a piece of paper inside of an empty Frappucino bottle with a plea for mercy. The bottle floated against the stern of a nearby Seattle’s Best barge and a crewmate ambled up the ropes with the message in hand. “SIR! There is a Kopi Lowak poacher writing in barely legible handwriting begging mercy for his coffee transgressions!” The captain of the Seattle’s Best barge lowered his brown solemnly, “if he chose to exist outside the coffee parameters of gas stations and dorm rooms, he deserves whatever fate the java gods have served him.” Authorities would later express amazement when Carl fashioned a helicopter entirely out of coffee beans and byproducts, only to escape weeks later and learn that he had the coffee all along. He is currently shopping his story to William Morris Endeavor for movie rights.

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Beachwood BBQ Tart Simpson Berlinerweiss, Eat My Inoculated Shorts, Man

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Spring is here and the days of turf rebuilding and sitting through shitty Junior Varsity television program lineups is upon us. What better way to shake off all those thick stout releases than with a crisp refreshing beer and getting twisted like those crazy Berliners. Actually, this would take quite a bit to get you Berliner wasted, good thing Beachwood sells growlers, a reasonable 64oz serving size for those times when the kids wont listen and the social worker listens even less.

Unlike the Simpsons, this beer hasn't jumped the shark yet, it is just getting started.

Beachwood BBQ & Brewing
Long Beach, California (NOT SEAL BEACH)
Berliner Weissbier | 3.00% ABV

This beer is like that refreshing yea-sayer friend that supports you in all your endeavors, unlike your friend that is just into Yeasayer, who is a negative asshole. You feel like quitting your job to start a Phish cover band? This beer is all about it. Every idea is a refreshing burst of lemony apricot zest with a bit of wheat for those days when you were weiss-curious. The look is as transparent as a Dan Brown novel, nice lucid yellow tones like a gentle stage light. The lacing is minimal but, bubbles only slow down the massive consumption.

This can be enjoyed at any time, all the time. It may not be directly on to style and it may not have a ton of adjuncts like Berliners coming from say, FLORIDA, but it is still a solid enjoyable pal who will assure you in that juicy manner that it wasn’t a dog that you just hit.

A: It has the dull shine of an amiable glass of pinot grigio, like yellow radiance with pure translusence that you can see right through like drunken pickup lines. Nice clarity and Juicy Juicy character that has minimal carbonation, but like a Hootie and the Blowfisk record, you’ll tolerate it.

Wait, 64 ounces costs how much? Take my money sour ghost.

S: The smell is pretty tame and doesn’t rope a dope any punches on the acidic front but it does contribute a nice lemony zest with some light musk. This could be more wafty, but for the ABV and grain bill, you can’t demand the world I suppose. I get a mild gose-esqye salinity that I actually think smells crisp and refreshing, like biting into a pear.

T: This is one of the most refreshing beers that I have had recently. With the slew of high abv winter releases, it’s good to tone things down a bit and have just a splash of juice and lemony jazz up in my mouth hole. You could put this in a Michelob Ultra bike bottle and refresh yourself on a long half century ride, if you were a negligent ass cyclist. There’s a nice pear and apple aspect to it that just screams summer fun like Super Soaking jamammy with a water pistol.

The flavor to alcohol ratio is complete inconsistent, but non-canon things aren't always bad.

M: This is incredibly light, with a mild salty tartness and faint drying aspect. This doesn’t wipe out the gumline, but keeps you looking for that next sip.

D: This is where this beer shines, a growler is an appropriate serving for one so plan accordingly. The refreshing taste coupled with the tart notes and the low ABV means that some lawns are getting mowed at the helm of this gentle fawn. Hell, enough growlers and you might even get that Trans-AM running that you have been putting off for so long. Sky’s the limit with this Berliner.

This beer defies genres and expectations but leaves you aware enough to contemplate its unique nature.

Narrative: Abilify wasn’t working, Zoloft was a joke, and damn near every reverse seratonin uptake inhibitor just rankled his jimmies, specifically the Jimmies of Jimmy James. His family left him due to his crippling depression and he resorted to horrible scrapbooking until one day he stumbled upon a 64oz container in the beach under some driftwood. “Great, more glass garbage on the bea-” and just then a citrus genie whooshes out in a gentle Febreeze demeanor. “Heyyyy, let’s get some Chipotle and then get a sketch pad and some charcoal pens-” this genie was super chill and filled to the brim with awesome ideas. After a hasty 64 ounces, Jimmy James’s jimmies remained completely unrankled. All of a sudden extended warranties seemed like a pretty legit idea, checking in on old ex-girlfriends just to chat didn’t seem so bad, and heck, maybe a no show at work wouldn’t be the end of the world. With this juicy ghost, the world slowed down and he could just take in the gentle complexity of a yet another American Pie sequel. He finally knew what it felt like to live in Berlin.